Just before 4 p.m. on this Thursday the lines had already formed. A vaccine walk-in clinic was scheduled to begin in Hartford, and my husband and I were already late. People were eager to find their place while looking for reassurance that they were in the correct location. A most cooperative and agreeable group. We were all united in our efforts and wants.
The shorter and quicker line was to the left. Appointments only. The ever-growing line to the right was designated for walk-ins, the group to which we belonged. Dark colored tents were purposefully arranged. Mobile vehicles displayed the name Rescue Inc. A large refrigeration unit boldly illustrated the words “Covid Vaccine.” We took our place in line. I was in awe of what this company from Brattleboro had orchestrated and accomplished. A COVID-19 rescue event was humming along like a well-oiled machine. Necessity truly is the mother of invention.
There was an orderliness. A calm. Patience was exhibited by all. I shifted from one foot to the other — nervous energy in anticipation of getting my booster. Spirits were unexpectedly high as we chatted with one of the wonderful vaccine team members about the lines being much like Disney. You think you have made it to the end only to learn there is yet another line to join. The journey has in fact been very long.
Relief was palpable as we entered the first tent. We were a step closer. The details of our registration were efficiently handled by one of the team members. She made it look easy as she processed our information. How many times had she completed the information while making each person feel so cared for? Next the tent flap opened into the secret “vaccine” garden. Signs and another team member guided people to their vaccine of choice. Moderna to the right and Pfizer and Johnson & Johnson to the left.
A call for two people to enter the Moderna mobile clinic. We moved swiftly. A quick order floated through the air. “One to a chair on the right and one to the left.” Suddenly a tall, young man was at my side. The words “Thetford” and “Firefighter” on the top of his left sleeve caught my eye. I dutifully handed him my paperwork as we are now well practiced. His calm voice reminded me to relax. I felt not even a pinch of the needle, just the flow of vaccine gratitude.
During the early hours of this morning, I thought about this firefighter and could imagine how capable and reassuring he would be in a true emergency.
Familiar tears began to roll down my cheeks as I reflected on my early experience with firefighters from a lifetime ago, quite possibly before this rescue worker was even born.
I attended Providence College in Rhode Island. On Dec. 13, 1977, at 3 a.m., a dormitory fire claimed the lives of 10 young women.
Christmas decorations lining the dorm’s top floor were ignited by a hair dryer. Aquinas Hall turned into an inferno.
The sirens roared for what seemed like hours.
The Providence firefighters were nothing short of heroic. Their extraordinary and heroic efforts saved the lives of many young women. As Kurt Vonnegut wrote in The Sirens of Titan: “I can think of no more stirring symbol of man’s humanity to man than a fire engine.”
At a memorial just a few years ago, I had the privilege of meeting the only surviving firefighter from that horrible day. He told me he was only 19, as was I, the night of the fire, and his life, like mine, had been forever changed.
The news recently reported on an elected official who spent eight hours speaking on the House floor.
An interesting juxtaposition of “public servants” struck me.
I thought about how the many heroes in uniform spend their eight hours a day. Saving lives.
Our lives.
Elizabeth Ricketson lives in South Pomfret